I was a College Weresinewa 2
by F_R_Eaky
Over the past few weeks the event that happened to me began to fade from my memory. Yes, I was jarred. I was certainly somewhat scared and apprehensive, however, the friends I had made here in Cambridge, at Trinity College were helping put me at ease. They came in to check on me and even made a roster of folks to stay up late in the night, should I wake up with nightmares or find I was overwhelmed with paranoia and couldn't sleep and needed someone to call. They also drew lots each night we went out to the pub so I had someone to walk me back to the dorms to be safe and not alone and prone to another attack.
Two other things made me feel safe and forget the incident. One was a second interview with the police. They had shown up the day after my attack to get my story, which I told. A huge man coming out of the woods, chased me down, and then began to choke me and strip me. The part of him knocking down the trees they gave up to me being still drunk from the pub, although no one in the town had figured out how or why the trees had been pushed over, broken, or uprooted. But a few days later they told me that my attacker was probably dead. There was a report of a suicide, a gentleman a town over by the name of Charlie Moore. He was found in an abandoned warehouse hanging from the rafters. He was a large man, 6' 8" tall, very muscular, very large feet.
But there were some curious oddities about his case. His fingerprints identified him; an exact match in the data base. They were on file as he worked for a securities firm, so the police know they were taken correctly when registered. But his family and coworkers all coming in to help i.d. the body said that it wasn't him. He looked eerily familiar in the face, but he was too tall, too broad and built. His medical records said he was only 5' 8" tall and very slight of build. Police chalked it up to a typo on the medical records, pent up psychological aggression put into workouts that relations didn't know about, and that the family and friends decided to distance themselves from the relative and friend that was now known as a sexual predator. They believe Mr. Moore hung himself out of guilt. Odder still, if this was my attacker, even for his good size feet, US Men's 17, they still were very small compared to the plaster cast of the footprint of my attacker.
But with that news I felt safe...or safer. My attacker was dead. The other item that made me feel better was I had noticed my clothes feeling tight, or rather fitting a little odd. I had also begun to see a marked improvement in my workouts, and both of those items had me measuring myself which is when I discovered I was now two and half inches taller. Not a lot, but I felt great about it. Maybe I was hitting a delayed growth spurt, or maybe I was just getting those infamous one to two inches of height during my college years. I got two and a half. Perhaps with my workouts and some other proper training I could stretch it out into four. I'd be 5' 10" then. Not huge, not even really tall, but I'd at least be in average range then. It made me happier, more confident inside.
About four weeks had passed and I was back into the regular grove of college life: classes, studying, part time job, night out with the boys. And then once again, my life turned upside down. I awoke one morning feeling...well, ...horny. ... And not just typical college aged male horny either. I had the sex drive and urges of bullet train. I was hornier than an overly hung, goat headed demon playing every brass instrument in hell's band. My little cock was throbbing so hard...I don't think it throbbed, blood just coursed through it at a high rate of speed. It ached. It hurt. I needed to jack off to find release but merely touching my cock with my finger tips sent a jolt of pain round my balls.
Stumbling, feverishly towards the bathroom, I nearly collapsed into a shower stall. Turning on the water, I shakily reached for the shampoo and lathered up and then squirted extra into my hands. I had to beat off. Grabbing my cock, a jolt went up it and through my entire body. A guttural moan escaped my mouth. My legs suddenly twisted and contorted. My toes and feet curled and bent inward. My hand clinched tight, threatening to squeeze the head of my cock right off. I looked like a person stricken with palsy. This was mind numbing intense, yet somehow, I managed. I'm not sure how I achieved it, but I managed to jack myself off and the feeling, the intensity of the volley of cum coming out of me was so powerful, it felt like I was actually cuming ropes. A glob came out first and was the knotted end and then the rest of it was a rope, not being shot out of me, but being pulled out of me by unseen hands, and the feeling was such, I nearly blacked out.
I wound up sitting in the shower, the water streaming down my face, spraying directly into my eyes. I didn't care. I was out of breath. I was so shaken by this intense orgasm...I had just raped myself. That's the only way I could think of to describe it. And yet, despite having just blown a load and nearly passing out, my cock in a span of a couple of minutes, released a torrent of cum my balls couldn't contain, went limp, and rose instantly hard as titanium again. I missed my first two classes that day. Spending most of the time in the shower jacking off over and over and over, sending what I swear would have been a gallon, maybe two liters, of cum down the drain.
The third and only other class I had that day, went by me in a daze. I couldn't focus, couldn't concentrate. The professor even noticed my daze and at the midpoint break called me over to ask if I was alright. I told him, I didn't sleep well at all last night. Wasn't sure what was wrong, but I just couldn't get any sleep. He was very polite and sympathetic, knowing what had happened to me and said, "Don't let it bother you. You've been through a very rough....well, rough assault. Even though it's been a few weeks, sometimes these things can bother one for months, even years, and just the oddest, slightest things can be a trigger for a flood of emotions. I'm not saying you need it, but if you find these sleepless nights become frequent, here's the name of a very good counselor, psychiatrist. Give her a call if needs be."
That evening the guys having been told or noticing my being slightly off and out of it that day, took me to the pub. They all knew the best way to unwind one's mind, body, and nerves was by downing a good couple of pints. I couldn't refuse this time; the rounds were on them to help their buddy out. Night had fallen while we were inside the pub. The moon shone heavy and bright from the outside through the front pub window, and all others it seemed, too. It was a full moon, and although I usually enjoyed the soft bluish, yet bright light a full moon gave, tonight for some reason I felt apprehensive.
"Steve-o, me boy-o! You still have three pints in front of you. You need to loosen up, man!" Said Joel Barrymoore, one of our group.
He was a really good looking man: 6' 4" about 260 pounds of well built muscle. Jet black hair that feathered naturally in the most perfect way around his face. That hair framed a beautiful pair of steel-blue eyes, in the middle of which was a perfectly straight, arrow pointed nose, that led to very soft, full, natural pillow like lips that were framed by a goatee of equally jet black hair. His cheek bones were high and very angled, yet slightly soft, paired with a very strong square jaw, that was slightly elongated and came inward a titch as it went down to meet the chin. He had one of those faces. Perfect for modeling, yet not. It had every bit of hard masculine strength you could want, yet still had some of those striking feminine, modelesque features. He had the face of an angel that look so beautiful, so passive, so pleasant at one he felt bathed in comfort. Yet, if one suddenly sinned, the face could become instantly hard and stony, full of wrath and power to make one repent!
"Who cares if you're too hung over tomorrow. You can write it off for a while due to your attack, and you're more than smart enough to make up the work."
Joel smacked me on the back, and laughed, smiling down at me, but my eyes went wandering down to his torso. Despite the weather getting nippy, he was wearing a polo shirt, just slightly tight. It hugged his shoulders, back, delts, chest and upper arms very, very well. Due to the cold air, even in the pub, his nips were poking his shirt a bit. I watched the hem of his shirt sleeve stretch and groan against his biceps and triceps each time he raised a pint up to his mouth. Saw the vein.... that vein.... the one that runs down from the delt, over the peaks of the bicep, and down into the forearms, spreading out like a set of tributaries to a major river. I could see it plump up.... and plump.....and plump.....engorge.... Joel's arm inflating.....making the shirt sleeve tighter...tighter... threatening to snap it... to rip the sleeve all the way up. His forearm joining in the growth getting thicker, harder, more striations, causing his watch's wristband to dig into his skin, cutting, making him bleed until....SNAP! it flew off. I could hear the pounding of his blood in my brain...it forced my heartbeat to match its rhythm. I could hear his muscle fibers snapping, stretching, growing......
"OI! Steve!.... Look at him he's still lost in thought about school or worried about what's gonna happen to him on the way home."
Joel again clapped me on the back, smiling at me, taunting me.... I wanted him and I was going to have him.
"You...." I jerked awake, trying to make a statement with a brain slurred by Guinness and clouded with lust. "You know.... you know what you are....."
No! I can't do this. I know what this is. I'm thinking of doing what I did to the doctor to Joel. I snapped my head away to turn and move, sending me careening into our table, knocking over two of the three pints I still had to drink.
"Whoa!" All the guys roared with laughter.
"Man, somebody is thoroughly pissed. Maybe you had more than I thought, mate." said Joel. "Come on..." and he hoisted me over his shoulders. "You need to head home before you pass out or get to the point of being an angry drunk."
The guys all laughed and rustled my hair as I hung over Joel's massive shoulder, wishing me a good night. I concentrated hard on keeping any urges down; after all I didn't want my dick to become erect and poke Joel in the chest. The walk, or ride home was in a daze, I was beginning to smell, sense, see any and every man that came within a thirty foot radius and I wanted them all, but Joel got me to the dorm without incident. He plopped me down upon my bed, and rustling my hair told me to sleep it off and get a good breakfast in the morning. From all my concentration fighting the urges, I blacked out just after he shut the door.
I awoke later that evening. Was around one or two in the morning. The moon still full and shining so bright it was almost blazing. My roommate wasn't home yet, but the urges from this morning and this evening were still there, but stronger. I stood up, and as soon as my feet hit the floor I began to pace and pace...and pace....I'm not sure but I think there was a couple of times I even climbed the walls, in actuality! I was sweating profusely and breathing rapidly. I had.... I had to........I had to get out! I had to fuck! I stood staring through my dorm window, longing for the outside, and suddenly I was there. I don't think I actually leapt through the window, it was still whole the next morning, but it certainly seemed like in my mind that's what I did.
And I was running and running, like I never did, nor could before. Through streets, through parks, through woods and subdivisions. Finally I came to rest in a playground. I was dripping with sweat and stinking of musk. I stood there, letting the cold, night air and the moonlight wash over my body. That's when I heard him. There... a small field away... on an outdoor basketball court was a young man practicing his shots in the moonlight. I'd seen his face on the television. He was college age, attempting to get a basketball scholarship overseas in the U.S. He was still a little fair of face and round, but he was a man: tall, a little bit of a build, like a swimmers, he kind of would look like a red-headed Kris Kristoffersson, except he was two inches taller at 7' 4". I don't know how I knew that, but I just did.
"Hey! You okay? What are you doing out here in your underwear?"
He had seen me... the time to attack was now. I began to run at him. He was a little taken back, but then he stood to stand his ground.
"Ok, little man. If you want to tussle that's your funeral."
He moved to strike me with a good solid punch, but somehow I was too nimble and quick. Instead of striking me, he missed and I used his arm as a bar to help swing me to his back side. I grabbed a hold of his neck, while my feet rested on his lower back, then pushed down, grabbing a hold of the waist bands of his shorts and underwear. I let go of his neck sliding down, taking his shorts and underwear with me, now leaving his hole wide open. My arms wrapped around his back half way down stopping me and I plunged in.
"HEY!" He screamed in shock, and surprise that he couldn't break hold of my grasp. I began going at him and began to feel a flow coming from him, emanating into me. I was gaining in power, in strength, in size. I could feel my bones cracking and reaching, my muscles growing and inflating, my tendons and sinews stretching, I was growing... Growing....GROWING!
The college athlete began to shrink, soon we were the same height, but as more and more of the power flowed into me, he got smaller and smaller, thinner and weaker, tinier and tinier. It was time to let go again. I pulled out with a pop, my cock having become significantly larger. The young man collapsed to the ground, looking so short... I was now 7' 6" and he was but 5' 6". I was a full two feet taller than him. He looked so tiny swimming in his own clothes that would never fit him again. My feet looked gargantuan next to his.
"What.... what did you do to me?...... WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?"
I sort of came too.... realizing I had to get out of there and once again I ran... and boy did I run! My longer and stronger legs carrying me much farther and faster than my old short pair did. I ran and ran jumping over cars, fences, picking up large heavy items like industrial garbage bins. I felt my cock being this huge, soft anaconda bouncing between my legs, threatening to get caught in between and cause me to fall. I had to feel what it felt like. Finding a corner in an alley way, I sat down and began to jerk off. My already large cock getting even bigger, fuller, thicker, the more it became engorged. I stroked it and stroked it and stroked it, feeling the sensation of each pull traveling across my whole body, plumping up my muscles, ticking my nipples and lower lip, curling my toes, making me stretch my legs and back. I erupted a volley that soared across the alley, smacking the side of the building across the street. I growled as I erupted and someone threw a shoe into the shadow which I was hiding in.
"Shut up, ya damn dog!"
Hmmmmmmmmm. A male voice. Another man to take. I must have him... I must drain him. I must.... must....
But suddenly the glow around me became brighter. A stream of sunlight came cascading over a fence line into my shadowed corner and striking me.
"Oh... no....." I barely remember moaning. For as the sunlight hit me, I began to shrink... and get smaller and smaller and smaller. I was reverting back to my old self. Kind of... I looked at myself as I shakily stood up. I was taller. Definitely a bit taller, and broader, and thicker, and stronger, and maybe more hung, but nowhere near what I was a few minutes ago. Still as I stood up and kind of checked myself in the door, my heart stopped. I had to be around 6' 2" or 3" tall now. I was only around 5' 8.5" when I left my dorm. This wasn't normal. My head began to swim. I wasn't sure what to do. There were some cuts and bruises appearing all over my body, I hadn't slept now all night, and I was terrified at what was happening. I knew I had to contact somebody, but who?
My mind thought back to the professor who gave me the counselor's phone number, but what could she do? Yeah, I need psychological help. I just raped a guy, drained him of his masculinity and size, have grown up and down, up and down from a short man to a giant to an average man to a giant to tall man. I turned an horked on the spot, spewing vomit all over the doorway. It was then I realized I was naked. My growth from the basketball player earlier cause my underwear to rip off. I had to get some kind of clothing and get off the street.
I heard a door slam, and peered over towards the fence line. From my position on top of the back door stoop to this building in the alley, and with my new height, I could just see over the fence. A gentleman, about my new height, was heading out to his garage. A few minutes later his back garage car door opened, his car pulled out, and he drove off, probably to work. But I had spied a clothes line with some of his items on it in the backyard. I tapped on the fence line a little bit to make sure there wasn't any dogs, then climbed over it into the back yard. Not seeing any movement or people in the back windows of the house, I made my way to the clothes line and removed a shirt and pants from it. I wish the guy hung his shoes out....course I had no way of know if we wore the same size and my feet were looking pretty big.
Once back over the fence, I dressed, and then tried to figure out where I was, and who I was going to go see. Then it came to me. Professor Zimbalst. He headed all the classes on the occult, magic, and things like that. He might know what's happening to me. I soon made my way to a main street to get my bearings on where I was. I had a couple of people looking at me oddly. Well it was a brisk, early morning in the fall and I was walking around in just a shirt, jeans, and no shoes or socks. I made up a story to one couple I was trying to ask directions from. I told them I had a fight with a girlfriend who locked me out of her apartment and I was walking back home. They took pity on me and gave me a ride back towards Cambridge.
It was still early in the morning, and I knew Dr. Zimbalst's classes didn't start until the afternoon. I approached his house, on the outskirts of town, from the back yard and knocked upon his door. He answered in his bathrobe.
"Yes..... who are you and what do you want?"
"Professor, I know this is going to sound unbelievable because I look so different, but I'm Steve Werdun. I took your class on 'History of magic and magical faiths' last semester. I need help. Something's happened to me."
He stood there for a moment, staring at me. Then he saw my eyes and exclaimed. "Upon my word. It is you."
I then collapsed on his doorstep. He woke me up, slightly, and helped me into the parlor of his house, where he placed me upon his couch and I passed right out.